A Light In Darkness
by RainThestral93
Summary: Harry cheers Hermione up in the only way he can think: She laughed –a pleasant sound which Harry hadn't heard in a while– as he attempted to spin her round, only succeeding at getting their arms caught in a tangle. He chuckled along with her, and soon the tent was filled with warmth that hadn't been felt in quite some time. Since a familiar redhead had abandoned them, to be exact.


**A/N: **Everything is dark, and cold and Harry and Hermione are feeling abandoned, let down by their friend, Ron, as he's jumped ship on their hunt for Horcruxes. When Harry reminisces on time spent at the Yule Ball, can he think of something that's able to bring a smile back to the face of the brightest witch of her age?

Harry sighed. Hermione hadn't been happy ever since Ron had left. She'd moping, angry and sensitive as if she'd been wearing the locket. But she hadn't, he thought bitterly. He had.

The raven haired wizard sat fingering the locket outside of the tent, the flames in a jar – Hermione's specialty – flicking and offering him a little warmth as he sat watch. He'd lost track of how long he had spent outside, but he knew that his toes were in danger of falling off and he had pins and needles. He chuckled to himself. Fat lot of good he'd be to the two of them if they got attacked, what with not being able to stand up and all.

He could hear Hermione sighing from inside the tent as she turned the pages of her book; the one that Dumbledore had left to her in his will. Harry knew the bright witch had been tearing her hair out, trying to discover the secrets that lay within the thin tome. For Dumbledore hadn't merely left the brightest witch of her age a children's book, had he? To do so would surely be an insult to the Gryffindor's intelligence. Harry sighed too. Ever since Ron had left – not that he'd been much fun when he had been around, mind – an unspoken cloud of misery had followed the duo wherever they went.

They were no closer to finding another horcrux, and they didn't have any means by which they could destroy the locket, either. So much for being left the bloody sword of Gryffindor, he thought. The blade was impregnated with basilisk venom, Hermione had realized, and would therefore be the perfect weapon with which to destroy the real locket – not the counterfeit Dumbledore had sacrificed himself for, left by none other than Regulus Black. Unfortunately, though, the aforementioned sword was nowhere in sight.

Nor was Ron anywhere to be seen. He'd left without so much as a second's hesitation, and as far as Harry knew, he would not be returning either.

It was just him and a very sad, moping Hermione, for the unforeseeable future. He'd heard her sobbing into the sleeping bag the other night, long after he'd supposedly fallen asleep, and he suspected she'd tried waiting until he'd drifted off. He'd heard her, though. And it made him feel terrible inside knowing that one of his friends was in such discomfort.

Harry found his mind wandering back to Bill and Fleur's wedding; the way Ginny had looked in her elegant dress, her tresses splayed out across her back and the moment they'd shared being intimate in the kitchen… that was until George had rudely interrupted them. His head sank into his hands as he recalled the precious moments he'd spent with her. He smiled at the memory of one trip to Hogsmeade, where they had held hands secretly under the table, hoping that Ron wouldn't notice and blow his top.

That had been half of the thrill of it, though.

He missed Ginny. In fact, he'd missed a lot of time he could have spent with Ginny. Weekends in Hogsmeade. Walks around the grounds, he could have even taken her to the Yule Ball and saved her getting her feet trampled on by Neville. He'd never been more jealous of the Herbology whiz, Harry chuckled, as he pictured Ginny and Ron clumsily treading the length of the Great Hall. Ginny was an excellent dancer, it was Neville that had let the side down. This, Harry knew from Bill and Fleur's wedding, where he'd finally had the redheaded Weasley girl to himself as they danced.

Dancing! Harry exclaimed to himself inwardly. He knew exactly the thing that would cheer Hermione up, he thought as he got to his feet, shaking his legs out to rid himself of pins and needles. He ran a hand through his recently cut hair – to which Hermione had rather ferociously taken to with a somewhat blunt pair of scissors – and made to go inside the tent.

Hermione loved dancing; that much was clear from the humongous smile that had spread across her face on the day of the Yule ball. At least, that was until Ron had ruined the evening for her.

Ron had this tendency of spoiling a large amount of Hermione's happiness, Harry noted bitterly. In fact, as much as he loved his redheaded best friend, erratic temper and all, he couldn't help but wonder just what it was that Hermione Granger saw in him.

Nonetheless, the Yule ball had been a chance for Hermione to showcase her ability to waltz, and she'd glided across the floor elegantly with her dancing partner, none other than the Bulgarian International Quidditch player, Viktor Krum. Harry somewhat suspected that the bushy haired brunette would have had a much better time if she'd gone with Ron; but Ron being Ron had been obtuse and not asked her except as a last resort. Hermione of course, was having none of that.

Harry ducked under the entrance flap to the tent.

"Hermione?" He called, and the witch looked up from where she was sat, nursing a jar of her trademark flames with a melancholy distant look on her face.

She hurried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but Harry had already seen them and shot her a look of understanding. He didn't say anything about Ron; he didn't need to, for there was an unspoken agreement to not mention his name, for whenever he did, it seemed to aggravate Hermione even further.

A familiar song came on the radio that Hermione had been listening to, he suspected as tribute to Ron, who had regularly tuned in to hear news of his family. It was a slow song, but it was a good song for two friends to dance to, and it resonated a bitter sadness, too, which Harry thought was somewhat appropriate.

Harry proffered his hand to Hermione, who looked up at him confused.

"What are you doing?" She sniffed.

"Isn't it obvious?" Grinned a dorky Harry, "I'm dancing. Dance with me 'Mione."

Hermione shook her head, refusing to budge from the step on which she was perched. Harry shrugged and began an awkward waltz meets shuffle around the spacious tent. He was well aware that he looked like an idiot; but that was his intention, surely his foolishness would bring a smile to the face of the Gryffindor golden girl?

Sure enough, slowly but surely the corners of Hermione's lips turned up in what could only be described as a feeble attempt at a smile. Harry's grin grew wider as she accepted his hand and began to dance clumsily with him round in circles.

She laughed – a pleasant sound which Harry hadn't heard in a while – as he attempted to spin her round, only succeeding at getting their arms caught in a tangle. He chuckled along with her, and soon the tent was filled with warmth that hadn't been felt in quite some time. Since a familiar redhead had abandoned them, to be exact.

Harry spun the witch round and round, in circle after circle, as if he was trying to shake all the negative thoughts out of her mind, soon enough, she was shrieking with delight and they collapsed on one of the beds, their sides aching with all the laughter they'd been doing.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione murmured, softly, from where she lay curled up next to her best friend, the warmth of his body next to hers a source of comfort.

"You're welcome," Harry smiled ruefully as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, chuckling to himself as he remembered a phrase from the late Professor Dumbledore.

Happiness can be found in the darkest of places, when one simply remembers to turn on the light…


End file.
